As I wrote down the details about the meeting, I received a phone call from a medical administrator I knew from my early days as an officer. We caught up briefly, and he jumped right in.
“Mark, I thought I’d give you a heads-up about a meeting later today in Admiral Cullison’s office about you. Do you know anything about it?” I let him know I had a good idea what was going on, and it wasn’t anything to worry about. I also thanked him for the call.
“Well,” I told myself out loud as I put down the receiver, “it seems TJ and Mark aren’t just stopping by while they’re in town for business.” Turns out I was the business they were in town for, and our meeting was just a courtesy call. I was certain they wanted to talk to my chain of command about a particular battle that happened a few years earlier outside of Firebase Shkin. When we returned home from the deployment, I’d received word that some of the senior brass were looking into awards packages, meaning medals for the troops. Like anyone else in the special operations community I welcomed the idea of the group being recognized, but the idea of receiving personal acknowledgment when others made the ultimate sacrifice didn’t feel right to me.
* * *
TJ and Mark and I had agreed to meet at a corner coffee shop in Old Towne Portsmouth later that day. We ordered coffee and set up camp at a table in the corner of the room. TJ’s big frame barely fit into the small chair that seemed to be intended more for décor than utility, making him look like a dad trying to have tea with his five-year-old daughter. We jabbed back and forth with a few wisecracks about our idiosyncrasies, and it felt like old times. There was no use avoiding the reason for the meeting, though, so when the opportunity presented itself Mark began.
“Doc, I know how sensitive this subject is with you, but we need to let you know you’re in for an award,” he said, then paused long enough that TJ finished his thought.
“Mark, you’re going to receive the Navy Cross.”
Suddenly I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut. I guess I always knew there was a possibility of receiving an award for Khand Pass, but I never imagined it’d be the nation’s second-highest award. I took a moment to gather my composure and carefully craft my words.
“You’re two of very few that actually know what happened out there.” I paused for a deep breath before going on. “I treated a lot of men, and lost some close friends and allies. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about them … they’re the heroes, not me.”
“I understand what you’re feeling, Mark, but—” TJ politely tried to interject, but I kept on talking.
“I didn’t do anything that anyone else on the team wouldn’t have done if they were in my shoes, and to be honest I couldn’t have done it without them. I just don’t see how I can accept that award.”
Both men fell silent and looked at one another before TJ answered. “Doc, we thought you might feel this way, so we’d like for you to talk with a friend who understands how you’re feeling.”
I liked TJ and Mark, but their proposal didn’t sit well with me. Would I have to go in front of some admiral and explain myself? Well, if that’s what it took, then so be it. Besides, I shouldn’t be asking someone else to carry the water for me.
“Doc,” Mark said in his naturally friendly voice, “come on up for the day and share a drink at Kitty’s with some of the boys.”
Their plan was starting to unfold. They’d probably asked some of my old teammates pulling the mandatory administrative tour in the Beltway to speak to me. Instead of looking forward to seeing them, though, I began to dread the idea. We’d each had a lot to deal with since then, and I certainly didn’t want to put any more weight on any of their shoulders. I sat quietly thinking about it as TJ explained how they were to meet with my admiral because, despite it being a medical command, he was still my commanding officer and needed to know about this.
Admiral Cullison might have been a doctor, but like me he hadn’t started out as one. Tom had been awarded a Bronze Star for Valor for actions in Vietnam as a diving officer, not a physician. His time as an orthopedic surgeon didn’t start until after the war, which gave him a unique perspective on the warfighter. I knew he’d be supportive of my decision, but only after I met with folks TJ wanted me to see. Which meant, like it or not, I was going to D.C.
By the time I made it back to the clinic, the department’s leading petty officer, HM3 Pines, was waiting for me.
“Sir, the command suite called and said you’ll be going TAD [temporary assigned duty]. Is there anything you need before you go?”
I looked at him and smiled, not answering right away. I still had a lot on my mind and hadn’t even started to think about getting orders cut, but it really didn’t matter anyway.
“HM3,” I said as I sat down in my chair, “we both know you have already taken care of everything, so how about you tell me, is there anything I need to sign?” Pines was one of the best corpsmen in the navy, efficient, well read, and professional. Aaron had administrative and leadership skills far beyond his rank, and like many of his cohorts he had proven himself under fire caring for his marines.
“Aaron?”
“Sir?” he responded curiously, with a look on his face as if I were speaking in tongues.
“Relax, this is a Mark and Aaron conversation, not an LT and HM3 conversation.”
“OK, sir, what is it that I can help you with?” he asked, looking confused as he closed the door behind him.
“Aaron, what did you feel when the marines put you in for a medal of valor?” He looked taken aback and took a few seconds to reply.
“Uncomfortable, sir,” he answered, looking away. He clearly didn’t care to discuss it.
“Why? What made you feel uncomfortable?” I asked.
“I didn’t want it … I didn’t think I deserved a medal for doing my job,” he said, looking me in the eye, two battle-tested medics who got it.
“Did you ever think of turning it down?”
“You were a marine, sir,” he answered in a witty tone. “Can you think of a time when a third-class petty officer could tell a marine commander no?”
“No. No, I guess not,” I said with a grin, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “But if you could have turned it down, would you?”
“Yes!” he answered back without any hesitation and with firmness in his voice only heard while on an ambulance call or in the field with the marines.
“Thanks, Aaron. You’re a man of many words,” I said with a chuckle.
“Yes, sir,” he said as he opened the door and began to exit.
“Wait,” I said, catching him before the door shut.
“Sir?” He turned back to me.
“There is one more thing you can help me with,” I said, trying to hide a sinister smile that was forming on my face.
“What’s that, sir?” he cautiously asked.
“Do you have the clinic keys for the—”
He held up a hand, stopping me midsentence. “No, sir. I’m not going to get caught up in another one of your practical jokes on Nurse Raniowski or anyone else, so don’t bother.” He started to pull the door shut and then, with only his head visible between the door and the frame, he said with a laugh, “You know everyone gets in trouble for your antics except you.”
* * *
I headed home and began to prepare for my trip, dreading the D.C. traffic. I departed early the next morning and hit the first traffic jam somewhere near Fredericksburg. I gutted through, reached the Pentagon with an hour to spare, and through the grace of God found an open visitor slot in the parking lot. I grabbed my cover (hat), locked the car, and started the long walk toward the navy’s south entrance, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. I was in my khaki uniform, but I wore the Ike jacket to cover my Trident. The SEAL device always draws attention, and with fifteen thousand military personnel hustling through the halls on government business I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. The sick feeling I had from the other day was still haunting me, and my stoma
ch began to grumble, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning, so I decided to walk into the cafeteria and grab some fruit and a bagel.
“You still trying to eat healthy, Doc?” came a voice from behind.
I recognized the voice and smiled as I turned to address him. “Colonel, are you still eating everything you shouldn’t?” I asked even before looking down at the heap of bacon on his plate.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied with a laugh.
“Dave, I heard you’re still working with TJ?” Dave might have been a Marine Corps colonel, but he had a special operations background, so anytime we were away from the rest of the military we’d revert back to the relaxed atmosphere of a platoon hut.
“I thought I’d stick around awhile and keep ol’ TJ honest,” he said. “I heard you were coming up. I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you.” We continued the small talk as we paid for our meals and carried the plates to their work space. I explained how I’d ended up in the Pentagon for the day, and he informed me that he was the “friend” TJ had recommended I meet with.
We walked into the space, and I spent a few minutes saying hello to old friends before joining Dave in TJ’s office. TJ sat behind his desk, while Dave was at a large wooden conference table devouring his fried pork and eggs. I went to my usual spot, a chair under a framed poster illustrating the sinking of Llandovery Castle, a World War I Canadian hospital ship that had been torpedoed by a German U-boat. It sank in flames, and as the survivors struggled to survive in the treacherous seas the U-boat surfaced and fired upon them. The story struck a chord with TJ, so he searched high and low for a poster and had it framed, then prominently displayed it in his office as a daily reminder of the atrocities man was capable of. I considered the chair under the poster “mine”; it was one of the few places I felt I was understood as both medic and warrior.
We made small talk and enjoyed our breakfast, feeling no urgency to jump into business. A half hour passed, and TJ changed tack and went ahead full speed into the issues at hand.
“Doc, this is a different kind of war. We’re uncertain how the enemy will react if we publicly recognize certain troops with awards and medals.” I had heard the Pentagon was concerned about the possibility of terrorist retribution against special operations and their families should their names be tied to missions, but I never thought it would affect me. Suddenly the administrative differences between fighting a sovereign nation and a network of rogue terrorists became apparent.
“Doc, it’s going to be the office’s recommendation that you have a closed ceremony,” TJ said. The colonel nodded in agreement.
The wheels were in motion, and I hadn’t yet bought a ticket. “Gentlemen, this has been a fascinating conversation, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed it, but like I said in Portsmouth: I’m not interested in having any ceremony at all, private or otherwise.” TJ looked at Dave and looked at me.
“Come on, Doc, let’s go next door. We’ll have a quiet place to talk,” Dave said. I knew better than to argue with him. He was in his colonel mode again and it wouldn’t have done any good to push back.
We entered an office that was obviously under construction, a random mess of half-built desks, missing ceiling tiles with wires hanging down, and cheap government furniture still in its plastic wrapping. Dave dusted off a couple of chairs and set them in the middle of the room. We sat and faced each other, our knees nearly touching.
“Doc, I want to tell you something an old gunny sergeant from Vietnam told me a few years ago. Back when I felt exactly the way you do now.” Dave was a Silver Star recipient for his actions in Desert Storm. “Like most lessons in the military, it probably didn’t originate with Gunny, but he was the torchbearer then and passed the torch to me, and now I’m giving it you.” The mood in the room had definitely changed. We’d switched from friends to mentor and student.
“Hell, maybe Chesty Puller said it first, to one of his men.” I kept listening and noticed my throat was starting to dry up. Conjuring Chesty’s name was heavy business between marines.
“Doc, there are two types of awards in the American military, those given for meritorious service and those given for valor. Meritorious awards recognize an individual for his or her achievements. They earned it, it’s theirs, and they should wear it proudly for a job well done.” He took a deep breath as if he were bracing himself for what he was about to say next. “Then there are awards that are given for acts of valor. Courageous deeds performed solely in sacrifice for another. For his brothers.” The emotion in his voice made it obvious that what he was saying was coming from something far more meaningful than a military instruction or regulation. “Valor awards don’t belong to the recipient. They belong to everyone but the recipient.” My heart began to pound as the gravitas of his words set in.
“Doc, awards for valor represent the appreciation of every citizen and member of the armed forces for sacrifices that were made at that exact moment in time.” His voice became a bit sterner as he continued. “The medal they want to present to you isn’t about you. It’s about all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines that were there with you. You may be the recipient of the award, but it will never be yours. Medals of valor belong to America … and that’s why they’re so damn hard to wear.” His eyes had teared up, and I empathized with his sense of burden.
I looked down at my knees, trying desperately to contain emotions that were overtaking me. My thoughts were consumed by the faces of my fallen teammates. The room was deathly quiet, and neither of us said a word for quite some time. We finally looked at one another, and I tried to speak, but the words were stuck in my throat. The colonel continued.
“Mark, the navy can’t force you to accept the award, but you and I know folks are eventually going to hear about what happened, and if those actions go unrecognized, the public may question our country’s commitment toward honoring the sacrifices of those who protect her. Are you going to tell everyone it was your decision to decline the medal?”
I knew he was right, but I still hadn’t come to grips with it. Then he hammered me. “Doc, it’s not your medal to turn down.” Silence followed for a few seconds as we sat and reflected on battles past. “Your job is to wear it for your team and country, and that means accepting the burdens that come with it.” Dave was speaking to me like an older brother to a stubborn younger brother. He was right, and I knew what I had to do.
We sat and talked for over an hour, and I listened as he recounted the weather, the sounds, the smells, every detail fighting men absorb in the heat of combat. He told me about the men he lost, and I began to understand the pain and guilt military leaders experience watching their men die in front of them. I’d lost friends; the colonel had lost men he’d led into harm’s way. I think Dave knew what I was going through, or wanted to confirm his suspicions, but the clock saved me before we got there.
“Colonel, Doc,” said Marc, an officer from TJ’s office, as he entered the room. There had been three Toms at Shkin, but there were three Marks in TJ’s office, and they were all brothers to me. “I know there’s a lot of bonding going on here, and I’d hate to break you girls up, but we need you next door.” Like the others, Marc and I had a close relationship and he obviously felt comfortable taking full advantage of it.
“No problem, Marc, I was just leaving anyway.”
As I got up and headed for the door Dave called out, “One last thing, Doc.”
“Yes, Colonel?” I asked, expecting another witty remark.
“You can be pretty emotional at times, and Lord knows we all love you for that. It’s probably why you do what you do.”
“Damn right. He’s all kind of weepy,” Marc quipped. I shot him a look, which, of course, gave him satisfaction.
The colonel continued, “Do me a favor and try not to tear up at the ceremony.”
“After everything we just talked about you’re telling me not to get emotional?” I asked, looking at him as if he we
re nuts.
“Yes, and I’d make it an order, but you never listen to those anyway,” he said with a wink.
“I’ll try, but you stop eating so much damn fried food,” I said, turning and heading toward the door.
As I walked out of the office, I could hear Marc say, “I got ten bucks that says I can get Doc to cry during the ceremony.”
I smiled and thought, No way I’m taking that bet.
23
RETURN TO FAITH
Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.
—ATTRIBUTED TO WINSTON CHURCHILL
Several months passed, and then the day finally arrived. The secretary of the navy graciously offered to host the ceremony in the navy’s private conference room at the Pentagon, and after discussing it with my now wife, I accepted. Mom flew in from Albuquerque with my daughter, who was living with her mother at the time, and Korrina’s mom, Judie, drove in from her home in Ohio. The guest list was strictly up to me, but I was still severely steeped in the turmoil from the battlefield and had returned to my reclusive retreat. Rather than deal with the decisions, I trusted TJ and his office to coordinate and invite the appropriate leadership and Mark to reach out to my teammates. Korrina sensed my anxiety about safety concerns and limited family and guests to our parents and children.
We met Mom and Tabetha at the airport, then checked in to a nearby hotel to rest and prepare for the next day. My wife helped assemble my dress blues while Mom and Judie took the kids to the pool. “I know you wanted your father to be here, but traveling is hard enough on Mom as it is. Watching over your dad would drain her.”
Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic Page 27
